


Restoration

by kerithwyn



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Superman (Comics)
Genre: Early Work, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-12-13
Updated: 2002-06-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 18:46:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2702606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerithwyn/pseuds/kerithwyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce gets something he needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Restoration

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a discussion and imagery by Carmen Williams. She put it in my head. :)

Once he had time and perspective to look back it was clear that the tension had been building for weeks, even if at the time he hadn't known toward *what,* precisely. A slight smile. Unnecessary touches. A hand on his shoulder, the brush of a diamond-hard body past his closer than casual contact. It made him...nervous.

But the Batman was never nervous, so he dismissed it and went on.

Except J'onn, imperturbable J'onn, had taken to wearing his "unreadable alien" face when Batman was in the room, and particularly when Superman was there as well. Not that he pretended to understand the Manhunter's heart, no matter how much he'd come to respect the last son of Mars. It was just...odd.

Still. It was his job (self-appointed, but even so) to watch over his teammates, to make certain they were all functioning at peak efficiency. It was his duty to make sure of it, so he found an excuse to stay after a standard JLA meeting. It took a little while for the others to leave, and by the time they had he was unsettled again. Something about that smile, *knowing* somehow, and the look Superman gave him as he left the Watchtower.

Too full of some kind of...awareness Batman wasn't used to seeing on either Superman's face (full of honest truth justice and the American way) or Clark Kent's (full of honest broad Kansas farm-boy "trust me" openness). Somehow darker. Somehow...more like his own.

J'onn was seated in the Monitor Womb, watching the world pass by. He turned when Batman came in, looking mildly inquisitive. "How can I help you, Batman?"

"I was wondering--" Horrified, he heard himself. Batman never "wondered." If he had a question, he asked. More usually he simply demanded the information he sought. He certainly never *hesitated.*

He was hesitating now. "...have you noticed--"

Ridiculous. If there was a problem, J'onn would have said. He was jumping at shadows. "--Never mind."

J'onn was still looking at him calmly, rather too calmly as if he already knew what Batman had meant to ask, and was suppressing a grin. Now *there* was an absurd thought, far too close to the paranoia certain of his teammates (Kyle. Wally. Even Arthur, who should know better) accused him of under their breath. But J'onn just nodded politely and said, "Of course."

He chose retreat in an attempt to save his shredded dignity, and wondered if he'd really seen the ghost of a smile cross the Martian Manhunter's lips as he'd turned away.

  
  
  
By the time of the next JLA meeting, Batman had nearly convinced himself he'd been imagining things. He had, after all, paid a little more attention to news from Metropolis, watching for anomalous behavior from the Man of Steel, but there'd been nothing. Both Superman and Clark Kent went about their business as usual. The Batman resolved to do the same.

The meeting went as they usually did. Superman did his duty as chairman efficiently and without conceit. Green Lantern doodled on a ring-created pad and complained softly to the Flash about being stuck on monitor duty on Friday nights. Wonder Woman watched them with a tolerant eye, then turned her attention to Aquaman, who had started pushing again for JLA action against ocean polluters. The Martian Manhunter counciled patience, though Batman suspected that a few weak-hulled oil tankers might never leave port again once J'onn had performed some very quiet sabotage. Plastic Man, his flexible limbs everywhere, made vague and harmless and occasionally useful suggestions in between jokes.

Batman watched it all, as always silent unless something demanded his response, given in a low terse tone that forced the others' attention. That was only one of his weapons, and still an effective one.

When the meeting ended J'onn called him for a consultation over the computers and certain linkages to Oracle's database. That finished, the Manhunter retreated again to the Monitor Womb, explaining that he was going to run a thorough diagnostic to ensure the new connections were all functional. All internal sensors would be inoperable for a few hours. Annoying, but necessary, the Batman reminded himself as he paced through the Watchtower levels; their security was only as good as the systems and the minds behind them. He trusted Oracle's programming and Steel's hardware and Scott Free's intruder baffles, but it all still needed to be checked, integrated with other systems, double-checked. There really wasn't any reason for him to stay here when he had work to do in--

Oh.

Superman stood in the meeting room, staring out one of the wide clear panels down to Earth below. His cape lay carelessly draped over a chair; strangely, without it he seemed even bigger, his body outlined in blue and red spandex that clung to him, hiding nothing.

He turned when Batman came in, that same too-knowing *look* of the past few weeks blossoming now into a wide and somehow disturbing smile. "Bruce."

It was a terrible breach of protocol, but they were the only ones here. He could play at this game, too. He wasn't addressing Superman, then.... "Clark."

Still with that odd smile, the other man shook his head slowly. "Try again."

...and belatedly, Batman realized just who stood in the room with him.

Not Superman, a living symbol of all that was Good, the world's greatest hero. Not even Clark Kent, a man raised in America's heartland with all the morality his Earth-born parents could instill in a child who fell from the stars.

Here stood Kal-El of Krypton, and for the first time the Batman had no idea what the man who walked toward him was going to do.

Coming closer. He should have tensed, prepared for an attack, but the habit of trusting this man was too deeply ingrained. Although he wasn't quite sure--

Superman, he knew. Superman chose without choosing to use his powers for justice and right. Superman led the Justice League but deferred to Batman in matters of tactics and strategy. Batman and Superman were the world's finest team; human brilliance and ingenuity and superhuman power and strength of will. Their motives and methods differed, but their objectives never did.

Clark Kent, he knew. Clark blushed at a coarse word but was tenacious enough to finesse interviews with world leaders. Clark Kent lived under Superman's skin, a constant tempering human factor in an alien body. They'd always been opposites: Where Clark put on a cape and became Superman, Batman put on a suit and became Bruce Wayne.

He could handle either of those men. But this one....

"Kal," he said softly, almost desperately, and then Kal-El's mouth was on his.

*He could have asked,* the outraged thought flashed through him, and just as fast the reason why Kal hadn't. The answer would have been "no," of course, what other answer could there be? But this...

If he'd made a sound, moved, the tiniest motion that he didn't want this, it would have ended.

He didn't. He *couldn't.* That mouth on his, searing him with a deep kiss, a *serious* kiss that he felt all the way down. Kal's hands--big, strong, incredibly gentle hands despite the awesome strength they contained--on his body, pulling him closer still. Kal might have given him the option to pull back. His own body, his own whirling emotions, didn't want anything but this.

No choice then but to kiss him back, hands scrabbling frantically at that broad muscled back. It went on, Kal's lips sliding firmly over his, tongues tangling, starting to feel the need for oxygen but unwilling to pull away because the body against his had become his new center of gravity, an irresistible force he needed more than breath.

Kal finally took mercy on him, pulling back just enough to let him gasp for air. Unbelievingly, he felt himself blushing. The Batman didn't blush...!

But *Bruce* might. In this situation.

"Kal." Just the name, layered in tones of acceptance and acquiescence. He reached down deep, to that rarely accessed place where Bruce Wayne lived, and let it happen.

Kal-El smiled, his hand coming up to sweep the shrouding cowl away even though the mask of the Bat had already fallen. "Bruce. Nice to see you. Finally." Which was apparently enough talk, because Bruce felt himself pulled in again, went willingly. Another kiss, deeper still, and this time Kal's hands were wringing sounds out of him. A gasp, and then a moan. He would have begged if he'd had breath for it, or any coherent thought at all. Nothing now but sheer need, Kal rubbing against him hard everywhere but most especially *there,* an insistent pressure against his thigh, and his own arousal making him arch helplessly into Kal's body, aching for a touch.

A chuckle, low and deep, and Kal's hand dropped down to stroke him through his costume. His breath hissed out, turned into a groan as Kal stripped away the kevlar and nomex from his lower body, lifting him with that effortless Kryptonian strength. He was turned, placed half-sitting at the edge of the table, all without breaking the kiss.

When it ended he thought to say something, anything, but his words were lost at the enveloping touch of that mouth on him, around him, burning heat and he cried out because it was just too *much.* Kal's hands stroked at his sides, soothing and stimulating at the same time. That tongue, far too knowledgeable, teased, circled, tasted. Hot wet pressure making him writhe, shuddering helplessly, forgetting discipline and control and everything that made him the Batman as Kal straightened, hand replacing mouth, and whispered in his ear. "Let go. Now."

Bruce surrendered to that undeniable command, and did.

Still trembling he was gathered up, kissed again while slick fingers slid around, into him. He clutched at Kal's shoulders, moaned into his mouth, a wordless "yes." Gently but relentlessly Kal turned him, bending Bruce so that he could see his own breath misting on the table under his harsh panting. The name escaped him a third time--"Kal!"--this time pleading for something he'd needed, never knowing it.

Kal-El leaned over him, his voice still gentle even now. "Bruce." He felt himself spread, opened, entered slowly and steadily, slight pain fading swiftly and replaced with more than just physical pleasure; the feeling that this, finally, was something that Bruce Wayne could have for himself.

Kal's hand stroked down his back in rhythm with his unhurried thrusts. Bruce rocked under the motion, his breathing matching Kal's, moving under Kal's pace. He was in control of nothing at the moment, not even his own body--

The realization was as exhilarating as it was shocking. Liberating. In surrendering both mind and body to Kal-El's whim... he'd found himself.

"Pay attention, Bruce," Kal murmured in his ear, and lifted him again, turning his body so that Bruce faced him again, all while still connected. Bruce hooked his legs around Kal's waist and this time *he* initiated the kiss. Opening his mouth, opening his body, letting Kal in as deeply--emotionally as well as physically--as anyone had been since the Bat had come to him.

And then there wasn't any thinking at all, just the movement of their bodies together, and the sounds they made, and finally the way they shuddered against each other and held on even after the wave had crashed over them, and subsided.

  
  
  
It took some effort to talk, but he thought one of them should say *something.* "Kal-El. Kal. Why-- How did you--"

Kal-El just smiled. "I've spent enough time around you, did you think I wasn't paying attention?"

"...so you set me up, is that it?" Outmaneuvered by the Kryptonian; if he weren't so exhaustedly content with the result, he'd be embarrassed.

"Are you complaining?" Kal teased, and then more seriously: "You needed this. We needed this."

On so many levels. "Yes," he said, and laid his head on Kal's chest, and rested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite awhile ago, I wrote that I wanted to see this: "Clark losing control. Letting himself be Kal-El. Letting himself act as a sexual being, which Superman cannot be. Forgetting power, and responsibility, and the weight of the world if only for an afternoon.
> 
> "And this: Bruce losing control. Forgetting about the Bat for a minute or an hour. Crazed with lust, forgetting his training, losing the discipline that keeps him locked in his own head."
> 
> Took me awhile, but here's a shot at it. :)


	2. Restoration: Kal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Original fic based on a discussion and imagery by Carmen Williams. This version's for J.C., who encouraged it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. *blinks* I'd been meaning to do this one eventually, and it ambushed me out of nowhere. Is it "creative" or "cheesy" to rewrite your own fic from another point of view? It's an interesting exercise, anyway.

He'd been feeling it for weeks, the subtle change in himself building slowly and inevitably. Something he'd always been, always needed, finally reaching the surface and breaching his controls. Controls that never really had been necessary after all, as it turned out. He'd feared the alien in himself almost reflexively, buried it beneath the Kansas farmboy and the hero.

But Kal-El was no less *him* than Clark Kent and Superman, and it was long past time to give that part of himself voice.

The distinctions were really much less than he might have supposed. He wasn't Bruce, after all, to so firmly divide himself that Batman and Bruce Wayne almost might be two different people altogether. Clark and Superman had their separate roles, it was true, but they weren't as far apart as all that. He was still Clark when he wore the blue-and-red suit. He was still Superman when he propped his feet up on the coffee table at night to make notes about his current story for the Daily Planet. Now he was long-denied Kal-El as well. The part who, freed of Clark's and Superman's inhibitions, might go after what he needed without any hesitation whatsoever.

Kal-El had a darker sense of humor, too. It was a dangerous game, teasing the Batman, and doing it so subtly the other man had to wonder if there was really something going on at all. Though of course he'd realize soon enough, even if he didn't believe it. One could read anything into a smile, or a touch on the shoulder. But no one touched the Batman without reason, and so....

J'onn noticed too, attuned nearly empathically to those around him. He'd felt the change as Kal-El emerged, sent a careful questing telepathic probe that Kal acceded to without question or resentment, and withdrew, satisfied. Surprised, perhaps, but nothing shocked J'onn and his innate unhuman understanding of humanity.

Even those humans who weren't, quite.

Anyone else he might have confronted and been done with it. But Bruce was a special case. There was a certain irony in the idea that it would require the efforts of two of the Earth's most powerful metahumans to ensnare the Batman...a tribute to the man's competence. And paranoia. Kal wasn't really surprised when J'onn told him Batman had already been wondering about Kal's change of demeanor. "He decided he was imagining things, and did not ask," J'onn said, sounding amused. "I should not have known what to say, if he had."

"The truth," Kal said quietly. "But it's time, J'onn. If you can, keep him here after the next meeting. And make sure...we're not disturbed."

J'onn's eyes, so deep, looked into him. "Are you certain of this? If you begin...."

"It won't end. I know. It's taken me a long time...but I'm sure, now. This is what we need."

The Manhunter regarded him silently for a moment and then nodded, a simple motion of assent. Approval, too? Maybe. But Kal-El, once decided on this course, didn't require it.

  
  
He'd done a good job, he thought, of keeping the tension thrumming through him from leaching into his voice during the JLA meeting. Now he waited while J'onn distracted Batman with necessary modifications to the monitor systems, which would conveniently disable the internal sensors. It needed to be done in any case; he was merely taking advantage of the situation.

He heard Batman moving down the hall back toward the meeting room--only because he was listening for it, since the man was more than capable of evading even Kal's senses if he wasn't paying attention--and detached his cape, throwing it aside onto one of the chairs. He moved to stand near the clear window-panels, staring out at the Earth below. Posing? Oh, yes. And also taking time for a last deep breath, preparing for what came next, knowing the next few minutes would change everything. Wanting what would come next without any reservation whatsoever.

He couldn't help smiling when he turned to see Batman entering the room. Couldn't help calling him by name, like a summoning. "Bruce."

Kal could almost smell the other man's uncertainty. That in itself was a rare enough condition, and he knew he hadn't been imagining it when Batman replied, evenly but with hesitation underneath, "Clark."

Because who else would he be, really? Superman and Clark had sufficed until now. It was Kal's darker humor that made him draw it out, telling Batman to guess again. Watching the *understanding* bloom on the other man's face, followed by disbelief and the faintest shadow of fear. But despite that his innate trust in Superman kept Batman there, unmoving, as Kal-El began to walk toward him. Kal could almost see the battle taking place under his skin, Batman's intrinsic paranoia at war with that faith.

If he'd had any doubt about this, it would have vanished with the proof of that trust. But there was no reason to push his luck.

"Kal," the other man said softly, almost desperately, and then Batman's mouth was under his.

He'd known, instinctively, this was the way it had to be. Forcing the issue in the most direct way possible, no room for equivocation, no chance for Batman to refuse. He hadn't been afraid Bruce wouldn't want this; he'd only feared he wouldn't allow it. But the body under his hands wasn't pushing him away. Kal took that for tacit permission and leaned in closer. And then, miraculously, he was being kissed in return. Desperately, frantically, gloved hands clawing at his back and tongue reaching to touch his own.

Kal broke off, barely remembering the limitations of human lungs. Though the way Batman had held onto him, he might have passed out before letting go. Stubborn, just like in all things.

Batman--no, Bruce--was *blushing.* Unbelievable.

He *felt* it happen, the fall of the indefinable mask separating Batman from Bruce. Bruce said his name again, and Kal smiled and swept away the physical disguise as well. "Bruce. Nice to see you. Finally."

He pulled Bruce in close again, feeling the man's willing surrender under his hands. Kal never, ever thought it would be this...easy. It'd had always been a battle with them, the superhuman and the iconic "merely" human, the light and the dark. But for all his ironclad discipline Bruce was moaning, rubbing against him like he was starved for the contact.

Such an enormous contrast from the man's usual reserve, Kal couldn't help chuckling a little even though his own control was beginning to slip. He needed restraint here, one of them needed to maintain it. But the sight and sound of Bruce relinquishing his discipline, abandoning his masks, had a far stronger effect on him than any anticipatory fantasy.

Focus. He could focus on Bruce. Kal let his hand drift down, stroking at Bruce's erection, still restrained in the costume. He wanted to tear the suit away, knew Bruce would prefer he didn't, and settled for stripping tights and groin protection and boots away with one hand while positioning Bruce against the table with the other. Bruce groaned into his mouth, and Kal wondered if he liked the idea of being helpless under someone else's strength. Not that Batman would ever admit to such a thing, but Bruce...maybe that's what Bruce had needed, all along.

Without giving Bruce the chance to react Kal bent and ran his tongue down Bruce's length, tasting him, and then swallowed him completely. Bruce cried out, completely oblivious to his surroundings now, as Kal had expected. Aside from the obvious stimulation, Kal-El's solar-powered Kryptonian physiology kept his body temperature slightly warmer than human. He generated enough unexpected, stimulating heat to weaken even the most stubborn lover's resistance. It was a side effect he had been willing to use mercilessly, if necessary, to bring Bruce to this point. Obviously Bruce had needed it too badly to offer the expected defiance. But they both needed more. Kal straightened, hand replacing his mouth, and whispered in Bruce's ear. "Let go. Now."

And Bruce did, spilling into his hand on command, shaking with the physical and emotional release.

Kal-El lifted him from the table, kissing him again. Bruce made a tiny noise when Kal's slick fingers entered him, wordless submission echoed in the way his fingers tightened on Kal's shoulders. That was all the acquiescence Kal needed, given his own impatience. He turned Bruce, bending him over the table, the position mirroring the image from his daydreams. 'Batman, on table, in the Watchtower' -- except that the man under him said his name again, voice filled with need, and he remembered who they both were. Not Superman and Batman, at all.

Kal leaned over, whispering the name like a mantra. "Bruce." He slid forward as gently as he could, knowing that Bruce would never admit to discomfort, if there were any. Kal felt Bruce clench under him, open to him, letting him in. Bruce, not the Batman. An infinitesimal and infinite difference.

He stroked a hand down Bruce's back in rhythm with his thrusts. Bruce rocked under the motion, his breathing matching Kal's, moving under Kal's pace. Absolute surrender in his every motion.

Kal felt the shock of that revelation run through Bruce's body. So many years of control, discarded so 'easily'...he wondered if Bruce found that enormously frightening, or exciting, or both.

"Pay attention, Bruce," Kal murmured in his ear to focus his attention, and turned Bruce so they were face-to-face again. Bruce hooked his legs around Kal's waist and this time *he* initiated a kiss. An implicit promise that this was more than simply physical, that Bruce understood and welcomed just how deeply Kal-El was a part of him now.

And then there wasn't any thinking at all, just the movement of their bodies together, and the sounds they made, and finally the way they shuddered against each other and held on even after the wave had crashed over them, and subsided.

  
  
Kal was content to sit on the floor where they'd ended up, Bruce curled catlike in his lap. Bruce, apparently, needed to talk. "Kal-El. Kal. Why-- How did you--"

He was more pleased than he could say by the use of his Kryptonian name, Bruce's innate understanding of the play between alter egos. The same way he understood what Bruce was asking. "I've spent enough time around you, did you think I wasn't paying attention?"

"...so you set me up, is that it?" Underneath Bruce's exhausted acceptance, Kal-El could hear the faint outrage of the Batman. But the Bat was very far away now.

"Are you complaining?" Kal teased, and then said more seriously: "You needed this. We needed this."

"Yes," Bruce said, and laid his head on Kal's chest, and rested.


End file.
